


every groom needs a bride(or in this case, a bridesmaid)

by pumpkinpickles



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen, M/M, perona and zoro are sibs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpickles/pseuds/pumpkinpickles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The black haired boy raises his hand to ruffle hair of the one lying beside him, who turns his head to stare at him with a bemused expression. As he runs his hand through the other’s hair, he comments something, undoubtedly about how the colour of his hair matches the grass he lies on, so much that he cannot distinguish the difference, earning a headlock which makes Perona laugh softly.</p>
<p>She remembers a day like this, all sunshine and strong wind summers ago, back when she could barely reach the swing hanging on the tree in their backyard and wedding dreams, walking down the aisle in an extravagant dress as white as snow with a trail that reached the doors of the cathedral and exchanging glittering diamond rings were everything on her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every groom needs a bride(or in this case, a bridesmaid)

**Author's Note:**

> wrote a little ZoLu fic from Perona's perspective because i live and breathe PerZoMi family antics. inspired by sanjishoujolegs' drawing at post/102722905476

The sun streams into the room, warming Perona’s feet where she is comfortably nestled in the pillows at the window seat. An open book seats on her lap, manicured hands resting on the page in fear of losing it to the blowing wind. Yet her attention is redirected elsewhere, far from the gloomy lands of the unknown where ghosts haunt and banshees shriek; what captures her fond gaze is someplace much closer to her heart, in her very own backyard, where two boys lie on their backs and point at the clouds, laughing at something she cannot hear.

  
  
The black haired boy raises his hand to ruffle hair of the one lying beside him, who turns his head to stare at him with a bemused expression. As he runs his hand through the other’s hair, he comments something, undoubtedly about how the colour of his hair matches the grass he lies on, so much that he cannot distinguish the difference, earning a headlock which makes Perona laugh softly.  
  


She remembers a day like this, all sunshine and strong wind summers ago, back when she could barely reach the swing hanging on the tree in their backyard and wedding dreams, walking down the aisle in an extravagant dress as white as snow with a trail that reached the doors of the cathedral and exchanging glittering diamond rings were everything on her mind. But there were three of them then(unlike how in present they have slowly become two and one, but she does not mind. she has learnt the calm that follows one, and is learning the beauty of two), and it would have been a blasphemy to have two brides; there wasn’t an extra tablecloth they could use as a dress.

So they made a promise(pinky swear and all), and she made do with a basket of flowers and weeds, both real and fake, plucks dandelions to weave flower crowns and rings for the sunshine bride and all-cloud groom(who’s skies parts just the slightest whenever the bride was beside him, just like how it would for the sun), dragged their fathers out and seats them on either side of the walkway and begun tossing petals along it that the bride stampedes over just mere seconds later, jumping into a very very surprised groom’s arms and both falling over with a shriek of pure joy.

She wasn’t the bride like she so badly wanted to be, but she clapped and laughed and cheered all the same, with a promise tucked in a special corner in her heart to be remembered and brought forth a decade or so from now.

As Perona recalls the scene with an affectionate smile painted on her graceful features, she shifts her skirt to allow herself to kneel on the seat and prop her upper body on the window ledge out of the open window above, looking at the grown-up bride and groom rolling around the grass in a tangle of limbs, exuberant shouts echoing the ones from her memory, she rests her chin on a hand and grins.

“I still want to be the bridesmaid!” She calls, grabbing the attention of the wrestling boys beneath. She’s holding a pinky up, the memory of a snivelling girl nodding happily at her brother’s firm promise in compromise of a afternoon daydream shattered still fresh in all three minds, as Luffy yells back his approval and Zoro burns bright red.  
  


She wasn’t the bride, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

 


End file.
